Sadistic
by headphone frenzy
Summary: If there was ever a time Silver wanted to beat the living snot out of Gold, it was, ultimately, now. He could never forgive him for what he had done, and how he refused to acknowledge it. Preciousmetalshipping. Shounen-ai. One Shot.


Sadistic.

Headphone does not own.

If there was ever a time in life where Silver wanted to smash the living daylights out of Gold, it was right now. The poor boy had no idea what he had done, but the complete elation that the doughty red-haired menace to society would obtain from smashing his face in, feeling his nose tilting upwards sporadically and without word or explanation, was the purest form of pleasure ever imaginable. It would have come out of nowhere, and Silver would have accepted himself just as well as he would normally even after he had succeeded in pulping up the poor boys face.

But the thing is, that was because he deserved it. That stupid male, with raven hair and a sunnier disposition than Ash Ketchum from Pallet Town that he possessed every single day of the week, regardless of sleep-habits or relations, was the whole reason why he had issues with nearly everything that you could have an issue with. He had issues following the rules because Gold never followed them a day in his life, he had an issue with sleeping because Gold always liked staying up and staring at the stars, he had an issue with sitting down still for more then seven or so odd seconds because the boy was always running around or nervously fidgeting, and he had an issue trusting people because Gold broke his heart.

Right in half, in all honesty.

And that was only _part_ of the reason why he wanted to beat the living shit of the 'innocent' little boy, with pitch-black hair and bubbly eyes. For the absolute longest time, the stupid callous-handed boy had this weird obsession with some aggravating concubine-shaped girl who sat three chairs away from him in geometry, with her strawberry-shaded lipstick that hardly matched her yellow complexion, and chewed watermelon bubble-gum like it was going out of fashion. Silver, even at this most desperate point in his life, still can't remember that stupid whore's name, but he's almost positive it was some sort of stone, probably a gem, knowing the trends of the ninety's. But this girl, he can remember her face, and how disgusting it looked sucking Gold's, how atrocious she looked with her lips locked up with a man that wasn't hers, with a pair of lips that were promised to another.

Promised to Silver.

But, either way, it didn't lower the anger in his stomach, the fury that made him feel like crying until he puked, and puking until he cried. Crying for things to go back, maybe so that he could sink in the thought that he was Gold's number one, no one else but him. Not even that stupid girl that stole his attention. He didn't want to be second best, he didn't want to be thought of as lower then what was unreachable.

It made him want to smash windows until his knuckles bled out all his blood, screech until his lungs were out of commission, and destroy everything that could never hope to fight back, albeit plants or objects, books and mirrors alike. Everything in the back of his mind was telling him to just catch Gold unprepared, preferably in some vacant alley so the pain could sink in and he could die in and out, and just beat him until he finally realized how much he was being torn up on the inside.

How much he was dying, simply because he could never be someone's first. Simply because that whore, that brothel-born bitch with that obviously popped cherry and fat ankles was stealing his well-deserved trophy and spot-light.

If he could have been Gold's number one, at least for some amount of time, albeit a half a second, or an entire year, he would have been able to die a happy man and suicide wouldn't bother him at all as a possible escape. But, for all he knew, he was always second, third, forth, twentieth, to that self-centered whore and her friends that hated her.

For heaven's sake, Silver had died his hair red for the black-haired boy, he had scorn his perfect blond hair for the brilliant scarlet it was now simply because red was Gold's favorite color. He had given up wearing his signature jacket, simply because he didn't want his ex-boyfriend to worry about him getting a stroke in the Jhoto heat, and he started watching more anime to keep up with the boy's constant fascinations. There was no medium in the relationship, simply a lagging dull ore, and his overly-enthusiastic, always-shimmering counter part.

So, he came up with a plan. The next time he came into view of this raven-haired male, with a sunny disposition and tending to miscount more often then not, he would smash his face in. Though, not just his delicate, fare-skinned face, he would break him, all of his bones, and crack his spirit right in half. Survival was not an option for the boy anymore, he had to be fully redone, remade, for him to ever get the pain behind being second, behind being the one that was unwanted.

Silver was always unwanted.

He would take it no longer, though. The point of breaking was passed before he was seven, and ten years later, he was finally realizing the crack in his skull, in his sanity really, that he had never realized was there before, and now he needed to mend it. Mending alone, however, was something dull silver ore could not do, it always had to have something dazzling with it, be it polisher or gold.

He needed Gold to make him shine, and Gold needed him. Needed him to hold him up, yet pull him down to the mud and murk of despair, of pain. Surely, the raven-haired boy didn't know he was pushing this task unto Silver, but the red-haired menace would have it no other way. There was only one way that he could do this, to mend both of them back to the complete gem they were supposed to be, and that would be to smash his face, right in half, just like how his heart was left, watch him in agony, and simply smirk delicately with an odd sort of pride.

Then, with the most amount of pride in his voice, he would whisper, hardly audible above the restaurant three doors down from the alley they were bleeding in,

"I love you so fucking much."

(x)

I'm really not sure what is up with this. I mean, I like it, and all that, but it's kinda grim. Another one of my 'three in the morning BS one shots'.

(I still like the statement 'brothel-born bitch'.)

Review? Recommendations for pairings or plot appreciated.


End file.
